Nowhere but Down
by Schildkroete
Summary: Slash: JackJohn Smith. After failing to protect the Doctor Jack tries to save what is left.


The coffee was too hot. Almost scalding. He drank it anyway and didn't care that it tasted awful.

Awful coffee was just another reminder of everything that wasn't right.

Of course he could make better. He didn't want to. Awful was just good enough for him and his lover didn't drink coffee anyway. Just tea. Always tea.

Maybe some things were meant to stay the same not matter how much everything changed.

He chuckled to himself when he put the kettle on. The other man wouldn't wake up for another few hours but he wanted to put some tea in the refrigerator for later.

The light of the morning sun was falling trough the window onto his breakfast. It would have woken his lover but their bedroom window was facing south and he could sleep a little longer. It wasn't like him, naturally, to sleep until noon, but they'd made love all night. The man now filling the steaming hot tea into the plastic bottle had taken his beloved long and hard, exhausted him. Helped him find rest.

Rest was good. It was what he needed. Deep, dreamless sleep, and the less hours of the day he spend awake the better.

Looking out of the window he could see the beginning of another perfect day. Birds were singing. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, because there never was. Their apartment was small; just the kitchen, bath, their bedroom and the living room. It was enough. All they needed.

He put the kettle away too soon – hot water splashed over his hand, scalding it, and he couldn't tell or care if it had been an accident.

The pills had to be crushed first. He postponed letting cold water run over his hand until after he'd slipped them into the tea his lover was going to drink in the evening.

The light falling in though the window was warm. Comfortable. Everything was warm and comfortable here, in this closeness that was giving them enough room and no reason to ever leave. It could have been perfect. It was what he wanted, what both of them needed. It could have been perfect. This could have been heaven and sometimes, in the morning, he wondered why he did his best to make it hell.

"Jack?"

He looked up sharply, flinching as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. But he hadn't been caught. The tea was already put away.

"Good morning, John!" Jack walked over to his lover to greet him with a kiss. "I thought you'd still be sleeping."

John shook his head silently. He was wearing one of Jack's shirts that hung off his frame in a way that was worrying him. No matter what he did his beloved was still losing weight. There were dark circles beneath his eyes and his hair was ruffled. No doubt he'd only just woken up, and the first thing he'd done was look for Jack.

"You had another of those dreams," Jack realised. He pulled the other man into his arms and John buried his pale face in his neck. "Was it bad?"

John nodded against Jack shoulder. He felt so brittle in his arms.

"Want to tell me about it?"

No, he didn't. Jack led him over to the table, used the remaining hot water to make him tea. No pills this time. Only in the evening. He put the steaming cup in front of his lover while John stared unseeingly at the toast.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

Jack watched as he drank his tea and ignored his food as he always did. He could have insisted the other ate and they could have fought, and maybe Jack would have punched him again and forced the toast down his throat only to have him throw it up a minute later. Force was the only way to make him do something he didn't want to do. Corrupting this man was impossible because he cared for nothing.

But that was still better than caring for too much.

It were just the mornings, he consoled himself. The mornings were bad, when John woke up from his dreams and Jack was haunted by the memories of the lost ones and fearing to lose even more.

John's cheeks were sunken in and his eyes red and moist, as if he'd been crying. The dreams were getting worse, eating away what was left of him. In the bright warm sunlight he looked like a ghost.

_I'm losing you_, Jack thought. _No matter what I do I'm always losing you. I sold my soul and still you're falling away from me._

"Eat something," he asked softly. "Please. For me."

But John shook his head.

"I can't. Later. I'm not really awake yet. Feel sick." He tried a smile. "Sorry."

Jack sighed. John was often sick in the morning, plagued by splitting headaches he had no explanation for. But Jack couldn't stop giving him the pills. He'd lose him, and he'd already lost too much.

It had been too much. They wouldn't have been here if it hadn't.

"It's okay," he said.

When his cup was empty John stared out of the window, out into the beautiful garden, the beautiful morning. He never wished to go out there.

Jack didn't want him to.

This was the smallest possible place to keep him in and still his lover was on the verge of getting out of sight.

Eventually John stood up. He swayed a little, had to steady himself on the table. Jack got to his side without hurry.

"You need sleep," he stated. John shook his head, trembling. He didn't like sleep. His dreams were killing him.

"Okay, no sleep then," Jack agreed, leading him to their bedroom anyway. "Just rest. You lie down and let me take care of you." It seemed like John wanted to get away when they reached the bed but Jack gently pushed him down. Lay beside him and took him in his arms. "I'm with you," he murmured, stroking his lover's hair. "I'll keep you safe. I won't let you down, I promise." Because it wasn't possible for him to fail any worse.

For a while they lay there, snuggled together, and Jack waited for his exhausted lover to fall back asleep. His eyes stayed stubbornly open for he was terrified. To make him sleep Jack would have to drug him, and any more could be too much.

"Tell me about your dream," he said gently, and this time it was an order. Still John took his time to answer. In the end Jack asked:

"Was it about the Doctor again?"

John nodded mutely. Of course. It was always about the Doctor. Even now he would not leave them alone. They'd never be rid of him.

Because the universe had decided that the Doctor didn't deserve to find peace.

Ever.

"What did he do this time?" Maybe it was a story he already knew.

"Nothing." John's voice was almost inaudible. "He just watched."

"That doesn't sound like him."

"He had no choice." There were tears in his eyes now. Would it have been asked for too much for the dreams to fade once he was awake? "There was nothing he could do. He tried… he tried…"

"Shh," Jack pulled him closer, stroked his hair. "It's alright."

"It isn't! It'll never be! They're gone, Jack! Because I couldn't… I…"

"It wasn't your fault," Jack said firmly and he didn't know who he was talking to. "It was just a dream. Not a memory. Just a dream…" He reached out and took John's hands into his lager ones. They were cold as ice. Jack's thumbs ran over the scars on his wrists that didn't fade with the transformation. Couldn't leave him alone. Should never have left him alone, out in that dark, lonely cosmos, for other people he couldn't save.

"It hurt so much," the broken man in his arms whispered. "It never stopped. Too much. He wanted you to know he was sorry."

"No, he didn't." Jack bent down and kissed him on the lips, trying to shut him up. He should have known better than to ask in the first place. "Because it never happened."

John was crying when he pulled away and Jack rolled onto his back, pulled him on top of him and held him close, trying to give what little comfort he could. Some day he would end this, either this way or that. It couldn't go on. He'd thought he could help but everything was falling apart in his hands.

It was just the morning that was doing this to them. Later, when John was better, when the pills began to work Jack would have hope again, would forget that he couldn't save what was already lost. The denial kept him going.

And when John was lying in his arms he gladly forgot that there was nowhere to go for them but down.

May 27, 2008


End file.
